


Cosmological Constant

by a_mere_trifle



Series: Cosmological Constant [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Character Study, Chatlogs, Humor, M/M, Meta, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, college!Akira, negative self-talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27078316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_mere_trifle/pseuds/a_mere_trifle
Summary: You picked up the bottle, and said, “I still hear it, sometimes.”“Hear…” he started to ask, but didn’t bother with anything else; the mind of that boy, so absurdly quick. It always had taken your breath away.“Azathoth,” you confirmed quietly, and took a large gulp.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Maruki Takuto, Kurusu Akira/Maruki Takuto, Maruki Takuto/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Cosmological Constant [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976314
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Cosmological Constant

**Author's Note:**

> So you may notice this is a series. The series will consist of this, maaaybe a side-story or omake, and a frankly gratuitous number of alternate endings. Some of which may have alternate endings. I appear to have a problem.

\--

Take a deep breath, Takuto Maruki. Feel the air in your lungs. Remember you have them. Remember you still need them. A mere mortal.

(For now.)

You know this feeling. You know what’s happening. It’s passed before. It will pass again. Talk yourself down. You can do this.

(Depersonalization isn’t a particularly good sign.)

Remember. Like prayer beads clutched in your hand, count the memories bead by bead. Remember.

Ruffled hair above steel-grey eyes (window to an unbending, tempered soul). Still not old enough to drink, not in this country, which is an utter absurdity when you consider who he is, what he’s done. He doesn’t hide anymore, or not as much as he did, and he stood out in that ridiculous place like a star, like a king, like an angel, sitting across the table from you in a frankly mediocre bar.

“I know I’m the one in your debt,” you said, shifting your gaze back to your bottle, “but I need to ask you a favor.”

Akira tilted his head, waiting.

You picked up the bottle, and said, “I still hear it, sometimes.”

“Hear…” he started to ask, but didn’t bother with anything else; the mind of that boy, so absurdly quick. It always had taken your breath away.

“Azathoth,” you confirmed quietly, and took a large gulp. You aren’t particularly fond of alcohol, either the effect or the taste, but there’s a time and a place, and this was one of them.

“...What does it say?” he asked, and he almost didn’t sound wary.

“Essentially? That I have a duty to fulfill. You know. What I usually rambled on about.”

You expected concern, anger, dismay; but Akira stared into his coffee cup, something difficult to read, something conflicted, in his eyes. You wanted to probe, but you knew it was delicate, and there was something more important to address right now.

“It wasn’t a problem, for a while,” you told him. “You did a rather thorough job of knocking the hubris out of me. But… it wears one down. And you can’t entirely avoid hearing the news. And in my line of work, I… see a lot of things I’d rather not.”

Even as a cabdriver. Late nights, crying people curled into the corner of (Don’t think about this part right now. Skip this part, Takuto.) “I’m not sure how I can avoid it. Particularly not with my limited set of qualifications. And pain is everywhere… even the Buddha’s parents couldn’t close it away from him forever.” You laughed. “You see? There I go again…”

“I can see how that might be a problem,” said Akira.

“I have a therapist, and she's very good, it's just-- there are things I can't talk to her about. Things she won't understand.” 

(“You can’t hold yourself responsible for everything your patients choose to do,” she liked to tell you. “They’re independent people. They have a choice.” And you knew why she said it, it was advice you’d often needed back before the world changed, but you didn’t know how to explain to her that no, in this case, they actually hadn’t. Particularly not in a way that didn’t get you arrested or committed.)

“A messiah complex takes a bit of a different tone when you literally can be the actual messiah. She doesn't understand the potential consequences if I slip. I need someone who will hold me accountable.” 

Akira gave you a measured look that still was far too old for the rest of his face. “Are you asking me to be your sponsor?” 

You started laughing. “I'm sorry, it's just, the twelve steps-- oh my god, that's the opposite of what I need.”

“Oh?” Akira tilted his head.

You pulled out your phone to look up the exact wording. “Step two. Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

Akira laughed, something bright and shocked that made you think of crystal bells and butterflies and beautiful, fragile things. “Right. Good point. Bad idea.”

“Worst idea,” you agreed.

“So, maybe more of a mentor,” said Akira. “In not being God?”

“You’re the best person I know at shooting an overinflated ego in the head.”

The look he gave you was entirely too sharp. “Not to mention gods. Am I your failsafe?”

You looked away. You’d hoped he wouldn’t divine that… but that was all right. You weren’t sorry and you weren’t ashamed. “I hope not,” you said quietly. “But the thought has crossed my mind.”

“I am _not_ going to… hurt you,” said Akira. His hands were clenched into fists on the table, you noticed.

“It would be despicable to ask you to. However, you do have quite the right hook.”

Akira laughed again. It wasn’t a sound you remembered hearing often; having prompted it made you feel just a little bit better, just a little less selfish. “I mean, I can’t argue with your logic.”

“It’s an awful imposition, though,” you said. (You always do this, always pre-emptively sabotage yourself, once you feel like you’re in danger of getting what you want. You should consider the meaning of that. Then again, given what you want these days, maybe it’s an impulse you shouldn’t abandon.) “And I’m not sure what I can offer you in return. A listening ear, at least, though I’m not sure what good my advice is anymore. Free rides, within reason? I know college students always need food, but I’m afraid I’m kind of in the same boat--”

“No,” Akira said. “That’s OK. That’s more than enough.”

“It shouldn’t be,” you said. (You can’t leave well enough alone. Remember?) “Some washed-up therapist asking you to solve his problems? Is that really a valuable use of your time?”

“You’re going to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“I am. I’ve got to pretend I might have something to offer you, don’t I?”

“Well, I certainly can’t let you fend for yourself, with the stakes so high,” said Akira. (You share a savior complex. That was one of the first true things you ever realized about him.) “But I never hated you. You really pissed me off, but I never hated you.”

He went quiet; you just waited. You knew this tactic: let the quiet stretch long enough, and the other person would instinctively, compulsively fill it. There were patients you could say two sentences to in an entire session. Once upon a time--

“And I think we might have a lot to talk about,” said Akira.

“We probably do, at that,” you agreed.

“So it’s a deal,” said Akira. He smiled at you, and though all his smiles have a hint of a smirk to them, this one was warm and small. 

Cheap sake on your tongue. Yellow light haloing his face. Drunk salarymen arguing over at the bar, sports blaring from the television. Remember?

Remember.

Skip along the chain, grasp at anything that will come. Order doesn’t matter. Just remember. Remember something real.

Two a.m., his voice strained and crackling on the phone. He pushed a woman into the car; she was dressed like a prostitute, a bruise was darkening on her ribs, and she was crying. There were sirens in the distance. (Don’t think about that part.)

You’re still not sure just how he got in the passenger seat. He got your attention with his hand slipping over yours, holding the gear stick, delicate, then firm.

He was still breathing heavily; his lip was split, bleeding, and an absurd thought that you could kiss it better flitted across your mind-- but that was stupid, he wasn’t, you wouldn’t, and that would actually make it so much worse--

“Drive,” he said, voice hoarse, though no rasp could change the way it slid like honey into your ears. And no thought, not one, no thought whatsoever went through your mind before you shifted the car into gear.

(It wouldn’t have happened if nothing bad ever happened. But she wouldn’t have had to--)

Stop. Another bead. Remember.

Leblanc, mid-afternoon, which was morning to you now. He’d carefully looked away while you added cream to your coffee. (You’re a heathen, a heretic, Takuto. Can’t be an adult and take bitter with your sweet.) It spilled over your tongue, bitter and light and some faint note of fruit. (It will always be apples, with the two of you.)

“Your skills have only improved,” you told him.

“I’m nothing if not a good student,” he said, and you laughed, probably a little louder and longer than was strictly appropriate. 

He looked at you, faintly questioning, and you said, “You’re considerably more than that.” (You could almost have said ‘You’re everything’, even then.)

The barstools were cushioned, but still stiff with age. The wood was worn smooth under your palm. Akira had that apron on, and he was looking at you, TV flickering white behind his head.

“Less than I used to be,” he said.

“I have a hard time believing that,” you said.

He looked into his coffee; if he’d still had those glasses, they would have perfectly hidden his eyes. “You really can be perceptive sometimes.”

(A clue. You knew it even then.)

“It’s inevitable, Akira-kun,” you said, still tripping slightly over the new name.

(You remember, don’t you? Was the text that day, or in the days before?  
Takuto: Hello, Kurusu-kun.  
Takuto: I wanted to thank you again for doing me this favor.  
Akira: I think at this point you can call me Akira.  
Takuto: You’d be all right with that?  
Akira: I’d prefer to put high school behind me, to be honest.  
Takuto: I suppose it wouldn’t be good to fall into the patterns of our previous relationship.  
Takuto: Akira-kun it is, if that’s all right.  
Akira: It is.  
Takuto: On that note, I would also appreciate it if you didn’t call me sensei.  
Takuto: You don’t have to use my first name, Maruki-san is fine if that makes you more comfortable.  
Akira: What if I want to call you Taku-chin?  
Takuto: Then you should probably restrain yourself.  
Akira: If I ever actually call you Taku-chin, that’s probably a good sign that you should restrain me.  
Takuto: I’ll keep that in mind. Though you should remember I’ve hung up my license.  
Akira: You’re a resourceful man. You’ll think of something.)

(He really was flirting with you, even then. You’ve just realized that now: isn’t that evidence enough that you’re not good enough for this?)

Remember. Back to it. “It’s inevitable, Akira-kun. You’re going to grow. Metaverse or not-- you’re free, and driven, and quite absurdly talented. You’re only going to get better.”

His eyes flickered away. (That was what he was afraid of. You didn’t realize what a blade the words were, then. You made a mistake, remember?)

“Nothing grows forever,” he said, instead. “I’ll hit decrepitude at some point, won’t I?”

You stopped yourself from thinking about it. (Even then.) “You? It’s hard to imagine. That’s a long way away, though. Better not to think about those things.”

He nodded. (He understood, even then. Don’t think about things you cannot (cannot?) ( _must not_ , Takuto) change.) He was always-- immutable--

_Ground_ yourself, Takuto.

Was it later that day, or your next visit? You’re sure it was Leblanc. He slid his phone over, an invitation. You looked at the screen. He had Idle up (wasn’t that more for business people, you wondered?), an absurd number of channels lining the left of the screen. #velvetroom, was this one, with a subtitle of ‘but not Akira’s because fuck that #sorrynotsorry’. It looked like a normal group chat, until someone mentioned Agidyne.

(#wildcards caught your eye, a locked channel. Azathoth had said something about wildcards, pronounced the word like another language’s most profane curse. You looked away immediately.)

“See?” he said. “We’re not alone at all.”

“We?” A few of the names had photos attached, and there were some you didn’t recognise. “This seems like a lot of people, even for you.”

“It was compulsory,” said Akira, and his lips quirked cruelly. “This is…” And he paused, with a measuring look, trying to figure out if he should tell you this. Then he decided. “Did you think we were the first?”

The world spun around you. The coffee threatened to crawl back up your throat. 

You actually had.

(You had and you were wrong and _you were wrong_ Takuto Maruki _you were wrong_ )

(But you know that now, and you could--)

“How many?” you managed.

“That we know of? Twentyish. But we’re chasing some leads.”

You shook your head. “But how…? How could it never have come out before?”

“Various reasons,” he said, and frowned. “There’s something I probably ought to tell you.”

You took another drink of your coffee. “All right, hopefully I’m ready.”

“There’s been groups like the Phantom Thieves before,” he said. “Going into the Metaverse for various reasons. But here’s the thing: it wasn’t the Metaverse to them. There weren’t Palaces, they weren’t thieves. They had different rules, different enemies… and then, when their job was finished, it all went away. Or that’s what they thought.”

You gripped the mug tightly. “What are you getting at?”

“I’ve read Jung properly now,” he said. “And there’s no way you can just destroy the collective unconscious.”

A cold feeling in your gut, a burn in your stomach. You should have thought of that. (A fucking degree and you didn’t think of that. You’re _bad_ at this, Takuto.) “You think it’s coming back. You think that’s why it’s getting worse.”

His eyes were bleak. His hand strayed toward yours, those long elegant fingers. You wondered, then, at the compassion in his eyes. (It makes so much more sense from here.) You both had so much to lose.

(You still have so much to lose. Don’t give in.)

Remember. A college bar, a college band, two guitars, a bass, and a drummer, mostly on key. Several strains of smoke hazed the air. Akira had a beer and you weren’t stopping him. You felt old, too old for this, the noise and the laughter and the boy like Spring itself beside you.

“And I guess all I ever loved,” sang one of the boys, a wistful melody that took your heart with it as it rose, “was standing right before my eyes.”

Akira’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the wall, his limbs splayed across the bench in a lanky, graceful mess. You could watch his throat work as he swallowed. You tried to avoid it. (But not very hard.)

“I guess all I ever loved was standing here all the time.”

You wondered if he was thinking of someone. You wondered if he was thinking of Akechi-san.

You wondered if that was a twist of jealousy in your chest. You wondered what the fuck was wrong with you.

“And I,” (it reached up) “oh I,” (and the fall began) “I was blind.”

You realized, then, just how criminally far back it might stretch. (Criminally, Takuto, a literal crime, and don’t you tell yourself he’s an unrepentant criminal, he is but that doesn’t matter at all. _You’re_ a criminal, you don’t deserve, you can’t be trusted--)

Remember.

He left a bag in the back of the taxi, and you almost called after him before you realized your name was written on it. The plastic crinkled as you opened it, a cheap box within--

The presumptuous boy had left you a bento.

You were the adult. You were the adult here! (Even if he was, too, now.)

But the rice was soft and sweet against your tongue.

Remember. 

His breathing was fast; his eyes were calm and edged with dread. 

“I haven’t actually told anyone that,” he said.

And this would be your downfall, this was your damnation (or possibly the opposite), and you said, “I’m glad you told me.” Because you welcomed your damnation, you’re welcoming it now, Takuto, fight it, and if you’re thinking of fighting, you have to think of him, because there he was, on the other side of your shitty couch, and do you remember? He was on your side of the shitty couch, something a little mad in his eyes, and he said, “We’re not going to let it get us, Takuto.”

He was close, too close, not close enough, and your body is the only part of you that’s not a liar, Takuto, your arms were already slipping around him as he leaned down to whisper against your lips.

Remember it, Takuto. The light sweetness. The way he pulled away, waiting, probably for you to sputter something stupid about “inappropriate” or “don’t feel that way” or “saved for someone truly special to you”. Half of you was considering it, but the other half had been listening, and age? Propriety? It was too fucking absurd. Too absurd, and he was warm and lithe and leaned back in for something hot and sharp and teasing, and you were utterly at his mercy and fucking glad of it. You were hungry, you wanted to give him everything, you’ve always wanted to give him everything, and for once, he was willing to take it.

You kissed, and kissed, and you were trembling beneath his hands. He leaned back, catching his breath, and you caught each other’s eyes, and you laughed, both of you together, like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Remember. 

“It isn’t healthy,” Honda-san said. You were looking at the city outside her window. You had to get up early to make these sessions-- early for your current schedule, anyway-- but you suspected the sleepy lack of inhibition was a plus for you. “And you know it. The things you say about yourself… it seems reflexive.”

It was. It is. “It’s a poor weapon against my ego, but I need everything I can get.”

“You’re so convinced you’re prideful. But I’ve never seen any evidence of it.”

“You forget I was a therapist. We get skilled at hiding these things. But there’s a little pride involved inherently, isn’t there? To believe that you can help, can save people, can fix them. That takes more than a little bit of pride.”

“Pride, or self-esteem? You’re so afraid of thinking anything good about yourself.”

“Pride’s a sin for a reason,” you told her.

“Self-esteem isn’t. You seem to be convinced that any self-respect, any kind thought about yourself or acknowledgment of your own abilities, will bring about some form of utter ruin. Maruki-san, does that really seem rational to you?”

“I wish it wasn’t,” you said. “I understand. If anyone came to me and displayed that sort of behavior, I’d think the same thing. Catastrophizing. Self-sabotage. I know what you’re thinking.”

Such things were usually a self-aggrandizing delusion. But you remembered what you’ve done. (And you know exactly what drugs she’ll start prescribing if you ever tell her that.)

“It’s contradictory, I know. It’s not modesty at all. To think I’m so special that I could ruin everything? I have a god complex, Honda-san. And I need you not to feed into it.”

“I won’t feed into it by condoning what you’re doing to yourself,” she said.

You checked your watch. Five more minutes. “I didn’t know how to tell you this, but we’ll be at an impasse forever if I don’t. A girl came to me whose sister died saving her life. Depressive, of course, had been even before that. No sense of self-worth at all. She told me her life wasn’t worth living, that her sister should have lived instead, that she wanted to be her sister, and live her life. And do you know what I did?”

“You helped her,” she said. 

“No. I helped her _do that_. I helped her believe she was her sister. I encouraged it. I smoothed her way. I talked to teachers. I met her friends. Because I thought it would make her happy, _I deliberately fed into her delusions._ ”

You stood. You were too much of a coward to watch her face. “That is where pride takes me, Honda-san. And I will be damned if I let it happen again.”

(Do you remember? Stop deluding yourself that you know more now, that it could be different this time, that it could be worth it--

\--they’re screaming--

\--any god is better than the uncaring void we’ve been left with, it’s a moral imperative, you have to try, you have to _try_ \--)

The first attack he brought you out of. You were in Shibuya, he was taking you to-- the movies? No, the flower shop? Was that another day? (See, you can’t remember.) The sun was shining down and the breaking news started flashing on the televisions and forty-eight dead.

Forty-eight dead.

You could have saved them. If you hadn’t given in--

But it wasn’t too late for the next forty-eight--

And they wanted, they wanted so badly, they were calling out for a benevolent God, and how could you be worse? How could you be worse, it was your right, it was your duty--

“Takuto!”

He never called you Takuto like that before. Your hands were clapped tight to your ears; he was holding your wrists. You couldn’t see. You were trying so hard, so hard, not to--

“Takuto. Stay with me.”

If you fell here, you’d disappoint him.

You could have stopped this--

Ground yourself, ground yourself. You grasped at your senses so hard that it’s still crystal clear in your mind. You were on your knees on the hard concrete, cold and vaguely damp beneath you. There was a faint sweet smell of flour and sugar, almost overpowered by dirt and stale water. The voices of the street were muffled. The walls were tall, sheltering, close-- a back alley, he’d taken you to a back alley, and your knees ached from hitting the ground. Mortal, mortal, human, your fingers curled painfully tight in your hair and--

“It isn’t you. Don’t lose yourself. Don’t let that person go.”

And those words, they weren’t inapt, but there was something odd about them. Old instincts rose, connected this to a thread you’d felt before, and you looked up at him, at Akira, at the Wildcard, at the Trickster, at--

Joker.

The man of a thousand masks. The phantom thief. His mask burned with blue flame; black wings arched protectively over his head, folded but ever in readiness. He burned before you like damnation, dark and sweet, power and infernal grace; the Fallen Angel, Satanel, and finally you saw what had been right before your eyes all along.

This wasn’t sympathy.

It was _empathy_.

_Something was calling him too._

Calling him too, and the thought of losing him to it broke the wave, dumped you shocked and scalded and shaking back into your pitiful body, into Takuto Maruki, washed-up cabdriver, being taken care of by a college student in a back alley in Shibuya.

“You OK, kid?” said a gruff voice. You were too dazed to even turn toward it.

“Yeah. My friend here just got dizzy. Could we sit in the back till his head clears?”

“Course. No touching the merchandise. But I don’t have to tell you that.”

Right, this was one of Akira’s old confidants. You let him bundle you inside, sit you down in an old office chair, a hand on your shoulder as you breathed deep, melted plastic and gunpowder and metal straight into your lungs. There was one light shining above you. Everything else was quiet and dark, like the look in his eyes.

“Satanel?” you asked him. 

“You saw something, didn't you?” And he sighed, rubbing the back of his head. The bashfulness of it was absurdly endearing. “My case is a bit more… complicated than that.” 

“But it's calling you.”

He looked away. “Cat’s out of the bag. I don't know if I should be sorry or relieved.” 

“It brought me back,” you said. “For now.”

“Well, then.” That hand was still there, an anchor on your shoulder, keeping you down. “We'd better not talk about it today. We'll get some food. Maybe see a movie. Maybe Akihabara? Or Shinjuku.” He grinned at your reaction. “Shinjuku it is.”

“Akira-kun…”

“I know a great bar there. And I never did drop back by to see the rest of the stock at that bookstore…”

“Akira-kun!”

“Come on. You know you need to get out of your head.”

You did, but Shinjuku… a former student… bars…

It would certainly give you more pressing things to worry about.

(Though in truth, your main distraction that day was the memory of wings. You’ve never forgotten it. It lies clear in your heart like a jewel. Sometimes you write terrible poetry and forget it as quickly as you can.  
And when you dared  
That darkened peak  
That threatened death  
To those you loved  
(And those you hate)  
The world itself  
Took note of it  
And rose above.  
Right, that part you can forget. God doesn’t write bad lovesick poetry, damn it.)

(But you’ve got to be better than nothing.)

That doesn’t _matter_. Remember, Takuto. 

Inokashira park, past midnight. Streetlights glowing gold around you. He was looking at his hands. You were looking at him.

“Thanks,” he said.

“It was literally the very least I could possibly do,” you said.

“Trust me,” he said, voice shaking with what you were sure he’d prefer to pass off as laughter, “it’s definitely possible to do less.”

The breeze was cold, and you were downwind of a garbage can. You could hear the voices of drunken salarymen, too far away to pick out words. You shifted closer, put a hand over his. They weren’t shaking.

“What are the odds?” you murmured, though of course they were disturbingly high. Another woman, another drunken man trying to have his way with her. Not an outlandish coincidence. It happened all the time.

(And every one that’s happened since you failed is all your fault.)

He leaned his head back, looking up at the starless sky. “The cops still aren’t very happy with me, you know. The official record is one thing, but a lot of them remember. My name, if not my face.”

“I guess I’m not particularly surprised.”

“It could’ve been bad.”

But you’d been there, this time, a corroborating witness; you’d pulled out all your tricks, all the stops, you were pure sweet bespectacled diffident reason and the poor man needed an escort home before he hurt himself. This one was no politician, no big shot, and the police actually thanked you as they left. The way it should have gone for him the last time.

“And knowing that, you did it anyway,” you said.

He looked at you, a little oddly, as if he didn’t see any other feasible alternative. He didn’t, of course. There were a few core beliefs, unshakeable and immutable, at the heart of him, and that was one. He could change nearly everything, but never that.

You admired that. You always had. (And if he wouldn’t bend in the face of reality, you wanted to make reality bend for him instead.) “Not many people would, you know.”

He scoffed, and turned his head your way, still resting on the back of the bench. “I wasn’t sure you approved.”

“Oh?”

“Your Palace made it pretty clear the correct answer was to run away and get an adult.”

You winced. 

“Then again, it was always pretty clear that wasn’t what you’d do yourself.” His smile was lopsided, teasing. “You know, I couldn’t agree with what you did. But, to be perfectly honest… I respected you for trying.”

You blushed, hard enough you could feel it, and could only hope the light was dim enough it wouldn’t show. “I… can’t say I expected that.”

“Most adults just give up. Go with the flow. That’s just the way it is. Keep your head down. Muddle through.” He huffed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “I couldn’t agree at all with what you did. But at least you didn’t give up. At least you cared. At least you tried.”

“That’s… probably not the kind of thing I need to hear,” you said, looking away.

“I mean, what you did was incredibly stupid and presumptuous. But you do get marks for trying.”

You’d thought the night was chilly, but it suddenly seemed too warm. (You always were a downright slut for approval. You always had to be the teacher’s pet.) “You probably shouldn't say that kind of thing…”

“Maruki-san, you can’t fight it off by destroying your self-esteem.”

“It’s a terrible strategy,” you admitted, “but I’m running out of ideas.”

“...Is it that bad?”

“I don’t know,” you told him. “It’s been getting more frequent. And I’m afraid. If something big happens... a terrorist attack, a natural disaster, plague... there’s going to be so many people, so many...” You shook your head. “How do you say no to that...?”

Akira let out a long, low sigh.

“I never was much good at that. I have a long-standing fear of being a disappointment, of letting people down. I never did learn how to cope with it. I suppose it’s poetic justice. I suppose I’d better learn fast.”

“I don’t know how you just _admit_ these things,” said Akira, and you turned your head his way. “I’m a master of disappointing people, though. How about we trade?”

“I’d love to teach you if you could teach me,” you said. “It’s hard to imagine anyone reasonable ever being disappointed by you, though.”

He smirked at you. “You’re a shameless flirt, Maruki-san.”

“T-that’s not what I meant…!” (It probably mostly was.) But he clearly meant it as a distraction. “You really do have trouble talking about yourself, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer for a few moments, which was also a confirmation. “I suppose.”

“Do you think it’s the vulnerability?” A Phantom Thief had many dangerous secrets, but then again, Akira wasn’t the type to play it safe. “Or does it feel like you’re burdening people?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes I just don’t know if there’s anything…”

“...Anything to share?” You hadn’t thought him the type to feel empty. When he dropped the polite student mask, he always seemed so full. (But that’s another mask, isn’t it?)

He shook his head. “I’ve got to work on that. How about we strike a new deal? You get me to talk about myself, and I’ll teach you how not to give people what they want.”

“Seems a little counterproductive for you,” you said, and grinned. “But yes. It’s a deal.”

(The more you learned about him, the more you wanted to know. You needed to learn to disappoint people, or even to give them what they needed even if it wasn’t what they wanted. You’re learning so slowly, so slowly, but maybe once you do--)

(--you can’t just fix this by playing God _right_ this time, Takuto!)

Remember. He lounged in the stall of the Big Bang Burger like it was a second home; it did have an almost unrecognizable picture of him on the wall. (Something about a challenge? You were a little afraid to ask.) The taste of grease still lingered on your tongue. It was past midnight, there was a gaggle of drunken college students at the next table, and for some godforsaken reason, it was starting to happen _now_.

“Sometimes I don’t know who I am,” he told you.

You had a feeling that you shouldn’t protest, no matter how outlandish it seemed. This was a time to listen. This was a spell you didn’t want to break.

“I’ve had to lie so much for so long. Not just about the obvious things, either. I needed people to like me. I needed to nurture bonds with them. So I say what they want me to say. I do what they want me to do. It’s a habit I can’t break.”

“To a degree,” you said, “everyone does that. We all react differently based on context.”

“But most people can stop. I’m basically a shapeshifter.”

“A jewel,” you corrected. “Hundreds of facets. Which you see at any given time just depends on the direction of the light.”

He laughed, playing with his straw. “...You’re a hopeless romantic, Takuto-san.” (He saw through you, even then. Before you even saw through yourself. And yet he stayed.)

“I’m pretty sure that’s one of the most obvious things about me.”

“It did get pretty clear, yeah.”

“I think you’re underestimating how much everyone does this,” you said. “Mirroring, code-switching-- we all want people to like us. We react differently to different people, to different situations. We talk differently to our friends than to our parents. It’s the human condition, Akira-kun.”

“...Yeah. It’s just...” He picked up his cup, playing with it. The ice rattled as he swirled it around. “Sometimes I feel like it’s all masks. Sometimes I feel like there’s nothing underneath.”

“That’s a difficult feeling.” You ate another fry. It was cold, but you couldn’t afford to turn your nose up at food. You’d lost enough weight already. “However, not to invalidate your feelings, but... speaking from my unique perspective, I think your concern is misplaced.”

“Invalidate away,” he said.

This really worried him, didn’t it? (You didn’t know the half of it.) “I’ve had a chance to observe you in many situations,” you said, and winced. “You’re flexible, indeed. But you have more determination than anyone I’ve ever known. There are things you believe in that you’ll never waver on. There are ideals you’ve faced death rather than compromise. If that isn’t a self, what is?”

He shut his eyes, with a sigh. 

“We all have masks,” you said, looking down at your soda. “We do pick them out, though.”

“And if I’m the choices I’ve made for myself... that isn’t so bad, is it?”

There was something else going on here. “Is there a reason this is bothering you so much? Existential anxiety does tend to do that, but...”

“...It’s complicated,” he said. “But, thank you, Takuto-san.”

You nodded. “If you ever want to tell me,” you said, “I’m here to listen.”

(And that was what you wanted from him, wasn’t it? Maybe that’s what made it possible for him, with you. Maybe that’s the mask he wore for you.)

(You could make a world where he doesn’t have to--)

Remember. Afternoon in the city, and a man was berating you for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Look at what you did--”

“I’m sorry, but I just parked here,” you told him. “I’m quite certain that I--”

“Please, you hacks are all alike! What’s your supervisor’s number?!”

You were not inclined to give that out. (You were cordial enough, but you were mediocre by their standards, at best.) “I don’t know when that happened to your car, but I can assure you that it wasn’t me. Perhaps we could find a--”

“Stop your lies, I know damn well that--”

“What seems to be the problem here?” 

The man turned as a policewoman walked up to him, a tall, striking woman with long, thick hair, perfect ruby lips, and Akira’s eyes.

(Your brain simply _stopped_ for a long, long moment.)

“This goddamn cabbie scraped my--”

“Isn’t that a no-parking zone?”

“Uh--”

“You know, I've heard about some insurance scams going around. It seems like such a victimless crime, doesn't it? A big corporation can afford to spot you some cash. What people forget is that it's the drivers who are going to suffer.” 

“Are you accusing me of something?” the man blustered.

“Should I be? Am I going to find an interesting history if I have dispatch look up your name?” Akira leaned forward, an oddly coquettish threat.

“I don't think there's any need for that,” said the man, backing toward the driver’s seat. 

“I quite agree, sir. I hope you have a pleasant evening.” 

You watched, more than a little dazed, as the man drove off. “Akira-kun?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do I want to ask what you've been up to, or is it better if I don't know?” 

“You’re probably better off maintaining plausible deniability,” he said casually. 

“Right.” (You wanted to ask, though. You wanted to know what possible scheme could have him cross-dressing in a dubiously accurate cop uniform. You still haven't asked.) “Thanks for stepping in, Akira-kun. I can take care of myself sometimes, I promise.” 

“I don't have any doubts.” He tilted his head back, smiling, and God, it looked so different with his lips painted that red. “I don't suppose I could catch a ride back to campus from you?” 

“By all means.” You opened the back door, and he slid smoothly in. This was not his first foray into drag; he was too good at it, handling himself without a second of doubt. He had practice. How? Where? Why? 

That tilt of his lips was a smirk now; you suspected it would be there for a long time. You started the car, and sighed internally as you remembered what CD was in its old player. Maybe the language barrier would save you. 

“Are you going to ask?” You could see him looking up at you through his eyelashes in the rearview mirror. He was much too good at this. (He’s Joker; he’s good at everything he puts his hand to. Right?)

“You told me I shouldn't. I trust you.” 

“That specific question. There's a wide array of others, though.” 

“I don't want to pry. And it's really not any of my business.” Your eyes were on the traffic; your only cues now, outside of the occasional stolen glance, were in the tone of his voice, deep and rich and teasing.

“And here I thought you wouldn't be able to resist a glimpse into my psyche.” 

You shrugged. “Whatever your reasons, it's really not as informative as you'd think. Besides, I do already know about Crossroads. Though I also know you didn’t get your practice there.” 

“No.” The smirk disappeared for some reason. “It's a long story.” 

“I'm always happy to listen.” 

And there was the smirk again. (He knew you were attracted. You couldn't even hide it from yourself.) “Can't stop yourself, can you?” 

“Old habits are hard to break. And it's not like the cab is helping.” 

“It wouldn't, would it? So the stories about cabdriving are true?”

“It can be a similar profession, yes. I don't always make good decisions.” You meant it, and it hurt, but you found yourself grinning anyway. The joke was on you, but it was a funny one. 

“Maruki-san--”

“It seems a little absurd for you not to just call me Takuto.” 

“Takuto-san,” he said easily, and it felt so much more right. (Did you _ever_ make good decisions?) “Are you doing all right?” 

“I could ask the same of you.” 

“But I asked first.” 

You gave the question due consideration. “My life is a bit of a mess,” you admitted, “and honestly I'm not entirely sure of the way through. But I'm scraping by. Sometimes I even like this job. It's quite similar, on occasion, except without the expectations quite so high. I need that, right now.” 

“…I still don't know how you just _admit_ these things.” 

“You fought your way through a physical manifestation of my own distorted ideation and saved me from my own collapsing dreams. There aren't studies, for obvious reasons, but I intuitively feel that tends to increase familiarity between people.”

He laughed (you dearly loved that sound. You were considering developing a sense of humor just for him). “Really,” you said, “you've seen me at my worst. What do I have to hide?” 

He shook his head. “Maybe that's why I don't get it. I always have something to hide.” 

Of course all your instincts perked up at that one. You considered whether it would be dangerous to press it. But then, it was obvious enough. He was a Phantom Thief; he had a record, even if it was expunged. Hell, he was from the country. People could be absurd about all sorts of things. He always had a wide variety of things to hide. 

Still… You had a feeling he was hinting at something else. The way he talked to you, that he was talking to you at all, that he was admitting he needed to talk to anyone… 

“You always seem to hear a lot more than I say,” he said. 

“Force of habit,” you told him. 

“I don't know if that's all there is to it.” He shook his head. “Well, it's appreciated. I don't always say a lot.” 

No, which made him an enigma and quite desperately intriguing. But he knew that, he traded in it, and it didn't matter. Your part in his story was over; you were on the periphery of his life. You could only hope that made you safer to talk to; he clearly needed someone, and sometimes it couldn't be someone you were close to. 

(God, you were delusional. On a first name basis, but you weren't getting close. You know why you did it, but that doesn't make it any less absurd.)

“You'd made it onto campus now. You should let me out here,” he said. 

“Are you sure it's a good idea to wander around like that? I could take you closer to the dorms.”

“I don't actually live on campus, remember? I'm sharing a place with Ryuji.” 

That seemed in accord with half-remembered scraps of conversation. “Then why did you want to come here?” 

“I've got a class in twenty minutes.” 

“Wait, and you intend to go like that?” 

He grinned. 

“What-- what could you possibly be planning?” 

“Didn't I invite you to the Idle server?” He paused. “I guess I didn't. I'll send it tonight.” 

He hadn’t, probably because you’d made your hesitation clear whenever the topic was approached. “Is that really a good idea? I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.” 

“There's lots of people on the Idle server. My friends dealt with Akechi, they'll be fine with you. Just jump in wherever you feel comfortable. It's not a big thing.” 

Yes it was. “Are you sure it's appropriate for me to be there?” 

“Takuto-san, this isn't my personal server. It's the Persona users' network. Trust me, you definitely qualify. And you need to be in the loop.” 

Well. When he put it that way. (And when he said your name. Nothing at all to do with the shiver down your spine.) “All right. I'll be there.”

“I look forward to it. Oh, this would be a good spot.” 

You pulled over to let him out; he leaned forward, with a wicked grin. “So, what do I owe you?”

What an odd question, when you thought about it. Not that it was exceptionally easy to think, with that thick, subtly too-coarse hair draping over your shoulder. “Nothing, Akira-kun,” was the only answer you had. 

“Well, we'll see about that.” His fingers brushed against your shoulders as he leaned back and opened the door. “Until later, Takuto-san.” 

He left, striding out into the afternoon sun in those absurd heels like he'd never known the touch of doubt in his life, all confidence, and a subtle touch of power to back it up. You wondered, not for the first time, who, what, this young man even was. 

( _O Crown of Light, O Darkened One, I never thought we’d meet,_ sang through the speakers. And you remembered again that you never made good decisions, that you had a bad habit of cutting your heart open and hoping the scars would stop you, and that's all you're doing, Takuto, this whole pathetic fight is an exercise in self-harm, and if you deny yourself much longer there'll be nothing of you left--)

“I was wondering,” said Honda-san, “if you were still in contact with the person you told me about at our last session. Rumi Kaname-san.”

You fiddled with the tea she preferred offering to cookies. (To be fair, you'd been working with a different audience. It was still strange to have the strategy turned on you.) Green tea, more bitter than you preferred, too hot still to drink. “Very occasionally,” you said. “I know that she's all right. But we don't speak very often.” 

“That must be difficult for you.” 

Not as difficult as facing her would be. “It doesn't matter if that's what she needs.” 

“Your needs matter too, you know.”

“Yes, but hers are more important. She has a lot of trauma to work through.” 

“Connections are important in recovery, though. You know that.” Mildly remonstrating. (She wants you to be happy.)

“Yes, but… I cause her more pain than anything else, at this point.” 

“Has she told you that, or is that your assumption?” 

“She actually has told me that,” you said, and watched the well-disguised surprise flicker in her eyes. She always expected you to be better than you were. You must put on a good show. 

“In that many words?” 

“When she forgot everything,” you said, ( _when I made her forget everything,_ you didn't), “I didn't fight for her. I didn't try to help her remember. I let her go. She's trying to forgive me for that, but the trust is broken. It will never be the same.” 

“The trust?” 

“I let her go. I let us go. I didn't try to remind her. I didn't fight for what we had. So I lost it. Is that really so unfounded?” 

She was silent for a moment. “Then why didn't you?” 

“I thought she was better off forgetting. After everything that happened… If forgetting me was the price of her happiness, I was willing to pay it.” 

“That doesn't really seem to follow.” 

“That's the problem.” (It did follow, because it was your fault. But you can't explain that.) “She thinks it was selfish, that I was running away from her pain. She's not wrong. She thinks I couldn't value our relationship if I could walk away from it so easily. It wasn't easy. But I did it anyway.”

And there was the part where you rewrote her memories. Even if it was partly an accident, even if a large part of her wanted it, she hadn't had a conscious say in it, and she couldn't forgive you for taking that away from her. Forgive, maybe, but not forget. And she shouldn't. She shouldn't trust you. She shouldn't believe you wouldn't do it again. You very well might. 

“You know not every story has a happy ending,” you told her, “right?” 

“Happiness is open to interpretation,” said Honda-san. “Well, if you don't want to pursue it, maybe it's for the best.” 

For the best. Sometimes you wonder if you’d picked a therapist too similar to yourself. 

"I'm moving on," you told her. She pressed no further.

(You can’t be permitted to do that. Not ever again.)

(You’d never permit yourself to do that ever again. That’s not your goal, that’s not what they’re calling for. You understand now--)

(You understand nothing!)

Focus. Remember. There’s a phone weighing heavily in your pocket. Do you remember when you accepted that invitation?

**#phantoms**  
All right, whose heart do we have to change to fix tuition rates?

Akira: I realized I forgot to bring Maruki-san in, so I’m adding him.  
Akira: He’s skittish, so no hazing until at least Friday.  
Futaba: buzzkill  
Maruki: Thank you very much for inviting me.  
Ryuji: Oh hey doc!  
Makoto: I was wondering when you were going to show up here.  
Maruki: Hello, everyone. It's nice to hear from you again. I hope I'm not a bother.  
Ryuji: Lemme show you the ropes!  
Ryuji: We got #general, that's for everyone.  
Ryuji: That includes people who have kinda figured out the whole metaverse thing but haven't been there themselves or anything.  
Haru: So tread with some caution there. You'll get the hang of it.  
Futaba: lurk n00b  
Ryuji: #velvetroom’s the room for persona users. There's a lot of us, you might be in for a surprise!  
Ryuji: #phantoms is just for us Tokyo guys.  
Ryuji: And then there's #wildcards for the weirdos who had to deal with that real velvet room shit.  
Ryuji: Brb, I have to go choke a cat.  
Maruki: Please tell me that's not what they're calling it these days.  
Haru: Calling what these days?  
Akira: Mona said he liked pretending he knows things. So they’re fighting now.  
Akira: You’re looking for #TMI.  
Yusuke: But there is no #TMI.  
Futaba: you would say that  
Maruki: I see, that’s where the channel list is.  
Maruki: Wait, there’s a #psience channel?  
Futaba: well we’re never gonna see him here again  
Futaba: oh shit the topic

**#psience**  
Topic: He blinded me with psience!

Futaba: SO IN CONCLUSION  
Futaba: lovecraft was a piece of shit  
Futaba: but he still generated an assload of personas  
Futaba: because a lot of people are racist hikikomori shits so he was tapping into a hella zeitgeist  
Fuuba: That makes sense to me.  
Naoto: That was the most profane yet scholarly argument I’ve ever read.  
Mitsuru: I fear the day you enter university.  
Futaba: the professors will cower before me and despair  
-Today-  
Futaba: well this is about to be embarrassing  
Maruki: Those were the conclusions I’d reached as well!  
Maruki: May I please subscribe to this newsletter?  
Futaba: you don’t think it’s actually a newsletter, right?  
Maruki: I do have a decent grasp on how Idle works. I know it might seem like all adults are just old people, but I’m not a senior citizen just yet.  
Futaba: oh ok it’s an old person meme i get it  
Maruki: And yes, I know you were talking about me. I don’t mind.  
Maruki: It probably won’t surprise you that I’ve put a lot of thought into this.  
Maruki: I’d love to finally have a place to share some of them. If that’s all right?  
Maruki: I don’t want to intrude.  
Futaba: you already walked right into us talking shit about your hentai persona, there’s no more damage to be done  
Maruki: The tentacles really should’ve clued me in that something wasn’t quite right.  
Futaba: dude no kinkshaming  
Maruki: Oh, I’m sorry!  
Futaba: jk calm your tits  
Maruki: Can I talk about the weird Lovecraft/Gnostic overlap I had going on between Azathoth the Blind Idiot God and the Demiurge?  
Futaba: can i even stop you? jk jk i know the feel  
Futaba: this is the place for that shit, nerd away  
Maruki: <3  
Futaba: dude use an emoji  
Maruki: I’m a traditionalist.  
Futaba: olllllllllld

**#phantoms**

Futaba: nevermind, he’s surprisingly ok with us shitting all over azathoth  
Akira: I’m not surprised.  
Maruki: There’s a #psience and no one told me. I feel so betrayed. How could you, Akira-kun?  
Akira: I kind of forgot about it. They just call me in sometimes for lore.  
Ryuji: Oh yeah, #nerdshit.  
Maruki: This is what I needed in my life.  
Akira: I told you.  
Futaba: we needed more nerds, there’s like 1 on the whole inaba crew  
Futaba: welcome aboard, hentai-sensei  
Maruki: Thank you!  
Maruki: But, uh, please don’t call me that ever again.  
Futaba: oh i can guarantee you it’ll happen again  
Haru: You know, I think you might get along here just fine!

(You were and weren’t OK with them ‘shitting all over Azathoth’. He was a reflection of your inmost self, but you’d spent the past months doing the same. And even they could tell by instinct something was wrong with that, Takuto. Something is wrong with it. It can’t continue like this.)

(But you can’t-- you can’t ever give in.)

Remember. Out in the park again, what you would call your third date (Akira had an alternate numbering system that seemed to vary based on the day, but definitely included many previous interactions). It wasn’t any different, not objectively, but your body was humming with nerves. Some were good; the sun was warm, children were laughing, he was close beside you and not running away (the way your body’s started to treat him like its personal magnetic north, permanently attuned). But there was a current of anxiety at the back of your mind. Were you standing too close? Was it too obvious? Would someone know? Would they shout, might they attack you? Would they hurt him? Would they know you were too old for him? People were hurt and afraid and they expressed that in so many ways and you could stop the cycle, you can stop the cycle of misery and TAKUTO, you were out in the park and happy and nervous and you finally brought it up.

“...So, I should ask. I’m happy to go along with whatever course of action you think best, but….what are we going to tell your friends?”

“Oh, I told them ages ago.”

You’d thought you were prepared for any answer, but you weren’t expecting that. (You were expecting to be another of his secrets, to be honest.) And from the casual way he said it, you didn’t think it was a joke. “What…?”

Akira dug around in his pocket, swiped a little while, and held out his phone.

Ryuji: Hey bro, where you at?  
Akira: Hanging with Maruki-san.  
Ryuji: Again?? What do you two even have to talk about??  
Ryuji: “hey remember when I turned into God and you rocked that sweet headshot action”  
Ryuji: “remember that time you jumped off a helicopter and bitchslapped my ass into another reality”  
Akira: I think we’re dating.  
Ryuji: LOL yeah right  
Akira: Don’t judge me.  
Ryuji: Yeah bro whatever  
Ryuji: You have the weirdest friends sometimes tho  
Ryuji: Lucky for me!

You looked at Akira. Akira took his phone back, scrolled, and held it out again.

Ann: Maruki? Really?  
Ann: You’re hanging out with him a lot these days!  
Akira: Yeah, I think we’re dating now.  
Ann: LOL  
Ann: No judgment here, he’s kinda cute!  
Ann: But really, why does he want to talk to you?  
Ann: You don’t think he’s planning something again, do you?  
Akira: I think he needs someone to talk to about it all.  
Akira: It’s kind of hard to bring up in therapy.  
Ann: Tell me about it!!  
Ann: Well, if that’s what you want to do!  
Ann: As if anyone could stop you :P

You raised your eyes to his again. He took the phone back; apparently he had more.

Yusuke: Oh, you’re visiting Maruki-sensei again?  
Yusuke: He seems to have taken quite an interest in you.  
Akira: Yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re dating now.  
Yusuke: Is this another display of irony, or are you being sincere?  
Akira: Yes?  
Yusuke: Your skillful deployment of ambiguity is truly breathtaking.  
Akira: Amazing, or appalling?  
Yusuke: Yes.  
Akira: You learn fast.  
Yusuke: The ability to sustain multiple possible interpretations is a hallmark of all great art.

Makoto: You seem to be hanging out with Maruki-san a lot lately.  
Makoto: You’re not getting in any trouble, are you?  
Akira: Well, I think we might be dating now.  
Makoto: Don’t dodge the question. You know what I mean.  
Makoto: If this is a Metaverse thing…  
Akira: Oh, confidants?  
Akira: If I were powering up Personas again, I would definitely tell you.  
Makoto: Sure you would.  
Makoto: Just be careful, OK?  
Akira: I’ll bring protection.  
Makoto: Just make sure it’s all street-legal. I worry about you.

Futaba: maruki again?  
Futaba: do I need to disable the bugs in your place  
Akira: Trust me, Futaba, I know better than to bring my dates home.  
Futaba: wait, are you seriously dating, or are you being a bitch?  
Akira: Yes?  
Futaba: omfg  
Futaba: for real dating XOR being a bitch  
Akira: Dating doesn’t follow Boolean logic, Futaba.  
Futaba: 0 it is  
Futaba: biiiiitch  
Akira: Don’t presume.  
Futaba: well ok yeah i think our last battle made it abundantly clear who the bitch was that’s fair

Haru: Oh, I’m glad to hear he’s doing well!  
Haru: I was a little worried, after everything that happened.  
Haru: So I’m glad you’re getting along!  
Haru: ...You don’t think he has ulterior motives, do you?  
Akira: Well, it’s possible he’s trying to date me.  
Haru: Be serious!  
Haru: Still, though, I’m glad.  
Haru: He seems like a man who could use a friend.  
Haru: And he wasn’t bad as a therapist. You could use someone to talk to, too.  
Akira: I have too many people to talk to.  
Haru: Do you?

Akira: Sorry if it’s awkward.  
Sumire: Actually, I’m kind of relieved?  
Sumire: I stand by what I said, but there was a part of me that sometimes wondered if I’d acted differently, or if I were less needy or less crazy…  
Sumire: But if it’s Maruki-sensei you’ve chosen, then there was definitely no contest!  
Sumire: He has a lot of qualities I’ll never have, and don’t even really want to.  
Akira: I guess that’s one way to refer to it, but it wasn’t the deciding factor.  
Sumire: ?  
Sumire: OMG  
Sumire: I DID NOT MEAN A PENIS  
Akira: Ok, I’ll support you for sure. I have friends in the Tokyo scene.  
Sumire: I DID NOT MEAN I DON’T NOT WANT A PENIS EITHER!!!  
Sumire: I ALSO DID NOT MEAN THE TENTACLES!  
Akira: I didn’t say anything about the tentacles.  
Sumire: YOU WERE GOING TO, SEMPAI!  
Akira: That’s a fair assumption.

You were blushing so hard you were a little worried you’d burst a blood vessel. “Oh my God.”

“You see? I told them.” His voice was innocent, but his smile knew what he was doing.

“Most of them clearly didn’t believe you!”

“Either way, I told them,” said Akira, with a small smile. 

You burst out laughing. “Akira, you-- you--”

“Devil?”

You winced, then shook it off, leaning a little closer. “Magnificent bastard,” you corrected. Which did seem to undersell it. Power, beauty, cunning, smarts, courage, a rogue’s charm and a devil’s humor--

_Pedestals_ , you warned yourself, but your heart wasn’t listening. Akira had flaws, but they were flaws you admired, adored, envied. Your heart was singing that he was a peerless angel, perfect, to be cherished and protected and made happy and you could make it all happen for him, you could make it all safe--

\--Well, that was a whole new avenue of attack you hadn’t been anticipating. You probably should’ve, you knew. You’d devoted an awful lot of your cognitive world to his happiness, and you hadn’t even been in love with him yet. No, not then. Azathoth had done many things to you, but not that, not this.

(You hoped. You thought. You knew.)

“You OK?”

Never, and never again. No, that wasn’t true. He was there; he existed in this world. You could see him, you could reach out and take his hand. Those eyes, like steel, like an oncoming storm. “Of course,” you said.

(He didn’t believe you. But at least you did, for a little while.)

Do you remember? Can you figure out what tragedy it was that set it off? The bombing, wasn’t it? 172 dead. Do you remember what you’d been talking about?

Ryuji: It’s hard to even believe it seriously happened.  
Maruki: They don’t tend to make up that kind of incident for fun.  
Sumire: Are you all right?  
Maruki: Yeah. Sorry, it’s just been a rough day.  
Haru: It’s all right. We know what a rough time you’ve been having.

You stared at that, wondering how to interpret it, when a private message notice flashed on the screen.

Akira: THEY DON’T KNOW  
Akira: Sorry, I thought I’d have more time  
Akira: And also I may have forgotten

Ryuji: An’ everyone’s talking about nothing but depressing crap, too.  
Ryuji: Prolly got all your rides talking about the same damn thing, yeah?  
Maruki: That’s true.  
Maruki: I haven’t really heard anything else today.  
Ann: Ugh. Well, don’t let it get you down!

Akira: Sorry, sorry  
Akira: I didn’t want to tell them about Azathoth. It felt like betraying a confidence.  
Akira: So when I told them you wanted to talk about some lingering problems, they made some assumptions.  
Maruki: Assumptions?  
Akira: There was something we’d been worried about.  
Akira: We’d actually discussed it before.  
Akira: The change of heart caused immense guilt in everyone but Futaba.  
Akira: We were always worried it might happen to you.  
Akira: So they assumed you wanted to talk because you were having problems with that.  
Akira: I let them believe it.  
Akira: ...It’s not like they’re wrong.

A shiver ran down your spine. You thought of the news footage, of Madarame breaking down, of Okumura, of Shido, all broken, sobbing husks, wracked by remorse. They’d deserved it, of course; it was the only rational, reasonable, human response to the crimes they’d committed.

But so did you, right?

Akira: To be honest, I wonder a lot if you’re being affected by that.  
Akira: Not that it’s the only thing that’s happening. I completely believe you. It’s Azathoth or whatever too.  
Akira: But, to be honest.  
Akira: I wonder a lot if it’s also that.  
Maruki: ...Now you have me wondering, too.  
Akira: I’m sorry.  
Maruki: Don’t be. It’s not like it’s unjustified.  
Maruki: And as I’ve mentioned before, it’s rather come in handy.  
Akira: That doesn’t seem like a good thing.

It probably wasn’t. You knew that. As a therapist, you knew how dangerous and counterproductive excessive guilt could be.

But your heart knew you’d twisted the entirety of the world, and you could never, ever make that right.

Shit. It was definitely the change of heart. But what did that really matter?

(It matters because it’s artificial, it’s not real, this cudgel you use against yourself is a lie meant to beat you into submission. It’s not real, and you’re hurting yourself, you’re hurting yourself for nothing, and if you aren’t careful, you may successfully deny me, but you’ll deny yourself into oblivion, Takuto, you know exactly how it will happen. You’ll talk just a little less on the Idle, slowly, not enough to raise suspicion. You’ll push him subtly away. He already expects you to have a crisis of conscience. A little distance, a lot more overtime… He’s the only person you have left. Shibusawa doesn’t call you more than once a month. That would leave you with plenty of time. People forget pills in cabs all the time. You’re planning it, Takuto!)

No. You won’t, you wouldn’t. It’s just a worry, a passing thought. It’s just a contingency plan. You _know_ what it does to everyone left behind. You _know_ there’s no way to avoid that.

(You thought twice before turning that bottle in to the lost and found.)

Briefly. But you did.

(This time. You’re breaking, Takuto. You’re breaking yourself because you think it’s the only ethical thing to do. And you think that’s the “undistorted” thinking?)

(No, it’s just preferable to distorting the entire world!)

(Distorting? Are you really so sure? This world where people lie and cheat and hurt each other--)

(This world--)

This world. Ground yourself. Remember. There’s one thing that you know.

Your apartment, dimly lit, sitting on a lumpy couch. He’d texted ten minutes ago asking if he could come, and he was already here. He stared at a coffee mug cradled in his hands. There was something haunted in his eyes.

“Akira-kun. What’s wrong?” you asked (again).

You still don’t know why this was the day he actually told you.

“It’s not Satanel,” he said. “It’s Joker.”

That was calling him…? “But Joker’s you. And Joker isn’t a god.”

“It’s different,” he said. “Joker’s not a god. But he’s… a character. He’s in the public’s cognition. Not just this public, either. And it’s pulling me.”

You frowned, uneasy. If people’s cognitions were really growing stronger, it wasn't impossible for it to affect him. Even if you never could. “Not just this public?”

“You know. Don’t you? Couldn’t you tell?”

(You did, though you didn’t quite realize yet what he meant. It was a wild surmise and you’d pushed it very far down.) “I’m not sure that I…”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is, they’re expecting Joker. They have expectations of Joker. And it’s going to pull me in.”

You shook your head, uneasy. “But Joker’s you, your mask, your creation.”

He nodded. “There’s not much of a difference yet.”

He said _yet_ so casually, but the one word painted an inexorable picture of what was to come. Characters were warped, sanitized, ground down or exaggerated to fit the people’s needs. Characters were the public’s domain, subject to their whims, and the longer he was silent, the less control he’d have over what they made of him.

“...Maybe you need to make a comeback,” you fretted. “We could find you something to steal?”

He laughed, bending over his mug. “Oh, Takuto…”

Your bare name on his lips made you shiver. He set his mug on the table. “The trouble is,” he said, “if I do, I won’t know if it’s me. Is it my choice, to take control of my image and my destiny? Or is the crowd demanding another encore?”

That shiver was considerably less pleasant.

“And what came first? Have I become a character because of my actions? Or was I a puppet all along? What’s the point of being a rebel when you’re just written that way? Is there a me? Was there ever? When I cross that line between being me and being Joker, who will notice? Who will know, when I’m not even sure myself?”

“Akira…” 

His breathing was fast; his eyes were calm and edged with dread. “I haven’t actually told anyone that,” he said.

“I’m glad you told me,” you said, though it felt inane. And do you remember? He was on your side of the shitty couch, then, something a little mad in his eyes, and he said, “We’re not going to let it get us, Takuto.”

And then he was kissing you. He pulled back, just for a moment, alert for signs of rejection, and you technically probably should have, but screw it, this would get pushed to week 2 of the hypothetical ethics hearings anyway. And as for age, at this point, who could really tell…?

(Not that you’d figured that part out yet.)

He kissed you again, more deeply, tasting, testing, and you laughed together at the absurdity of it all. But not for long. There was a flash of pain in his eyes, and before you could think better of it, you moved in to chase it away with a kiss. Physical distractions could ground the best, you knew, and you were so worried for him, you wanted him to be happy, you wanted him so much.

And for some reason, he seemed to feel the same.

Soft lips wandered, unhurried, down your neck, heedless of stubble, pausing as a particular hollow made you gasp, taking their time to delve more deeply. (Tomorrow, you’d have a late lunch with Shibusawa, and you’d wonder at the relieved look in his eyes until you caught a glimpse of your neck in the bathroom mirror. Trickster.) His fingers slipped under your shirt, and you worried what he’d think about what he found there, but he had you leaning backward now, and his hips were hovering near yours, and you didn’t have the presence of mind to think about such things.

He smirked at you, and you thought _Joker_ , and suddenly you wanted to flip the script. Joker would do everything perfectly; Joker would always be in control. And if he was so worried about that--

You fumbled at his shirt, laughing breathlessly at yourself. (A blue t-shirt; he’d been wearing it underneath an unbuttoned blazer.) Of course he was perfect, subtle muscles built for work, not show. “You’re absurdly out of my league, you know,” you whispered, pressing soft kisses along his earlobe.

“You were literally God for a month,” he pointed out, shaking with what was probably laughter. You took the chance to run your hands down his sides, pressing your face against the warm skin of his chest.

“I’m not sure that counts in my favor!”

“You had the whole of Shujin hot for teacher!”

“They were pretty desperate there!”

“Oh my god, they actually were, but shut up and let me kiss you, you dork.”

You looked up at him, opening your mouth to say something, then thought better of it and closed it, looking at him expectantly. He laughed, and kissed you, pinning you back against the arm of the sofa, and it was hot and fervent and you weren’t entirely sure what happened to your shirt but his hands were running down your chest, shockingly close, and his hips were close enough that you could feel--

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

“No,” you answered honestly, suddenly very concerned about the answer.

“Weeks,” he said.

You relaxed. “Oh, that’s all right, then.”

He laughed, breath puffing hot against your neck, and he was straddling you, hips nestling against yours, and you could _feel_ him, inexplicable and astonishing, and it was taking away all your capacity for rational thought. You hadn’t felt this way in so, so long, and it felt so good, so perfect, so right. You needed this, and knowing that he wanted, he needed it too pushed every shred of hesitation out of your head (you knew even then it would be back). 

He kissed you, stroking himself against you in a long, slow grind. Your eyes fluttered shut as your head tilted back; he took advantage of it, kissing down your throat. His hands settled on your hips. “Takuto,” he whispered.

“Akira,” you answered, catching his lips. “Don’t hold back.”

He took that as the unequivocal consent it was, and he didn’t, god, he didn’t hold back. He had you writhing beneath him within minutes, straining upward for his touch, noises you weren’t even aware you were capable of slipping out of your lips. It almost didn't feel real, didn’t feel like you, but it compelled you irresistibly regardless.

You wanted to let him have anything, let him do anything, but his smile grew sharper every time you moved beneath him, every time you pulled him close, every time you stammered out “please” like you were begging for your future. And you wanted to give him what he wanted. 

He was so beautiful, so utterly heartbreaking, looking down at you with his eyes dark and intent, lips parted; “Takuto,” he whispered, desperately, and you cried out, hips jerking upward as you came. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t think straight, you just clutched him desperately as he thrust against you, bodies slippery and slick, and felt a dim, hungry triumph as you felt him spill against your stomach.

And it was just you and him, foreheads touching, catching each other’s breath; you and him, just two people, two humans, whatever that word means. Whatever you’ve been and whatever you’ll become, it’s you and him.

(Should you stop yourself from saying ‘I love you’, you wondered? It was a cliche, it was an emotionally vulnerable time, but it was hard to believe he didn’t know. You’re a hopeless romantic, and he’s lived the awful truth of that.)

You could ask what this meant, what the ground rules were, if you were exclusive, but how much did it really matter now? This was real, this was yours, and that was all you really needed. Love lit up your heart like a lamp, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself drift in the tide of devotion.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he murmured, and you laughed a little, though it warmed you. _You’re everything,_ you wanted to answer, but it was (probably) (slightly) hyperbolic, and you knew you tended to come on a little too strong.

“Come on, you must have noticed you had half the school crushing on you.” His voice was soft and teasing, still just a little out of breath; his lips pressed against your temple, and that foolish heart of yours sang that he was beautiful, perfect, you were his forever. (You probably shouldn’t mention that yet.)

“I certainly wasn’t doing the math,” you said.

“What, you think I put out a survey?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past you…”

“Anyway, you knew it was happening.”

“It was pretty difficult to manage,” you told him. “I found the best tactic was to feign ignorance, most of the time. But some of them made it really, really obvious.”

“You can be quite charming, you know. Just don’t do that thing with your hair again.”

“Excuse me…?”

“You slicked it back in the Metaverse. It wasn’t very flattering.”

“That is a very impolite thing to say in this situation,” you told him, as seriously as you could manage. (The joy was difficult to restrain.)

“What’s a better time? I think I’ve proved it didn’t leave a bad impression.” He ran a hand through your hair.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you like it messy… oh, don’t even,” you added, as his smile went wicked.

“You’ll let me do it again, won’t you?” he murmured in your ear.

Let? What an absurd way to put it. But if he were really inclined to ask, then of course. You’d deny him nothing. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you. I know how determined you can be.”

“And it’s a turn-on?”

You considered prevaricating, but what was the point? “Absolutely.”

He laughed. “How do you just _say_ these things?”

“I think I’ve proved it didn’t leave a bad impression.” You tried a smirk back at him. You knew it was an art you’d never rival him at, but sometimes one had to try.

“Touche.”

“I mean, I'm not in the habit of doing this on the first date. Or of dating,” you added, under your breath.

“ _First_ date?”

“What?” You blinked at him, confused.

“How many times have I taken you to Leblanc?”

“You take everyone to Leblanc!”

“Dinner?”

“Are you really dating Toranosuke-san?”

He winced. “OK, that’s a fair point. The park dates?”

“You’re dating Iwai-san too? Is this a kink for older men?” (A flash of fear went through you as you said it. Then again, age was one thing you could hardly lose.)

He scratched his head. “How about the getaway driving?”

“I actually wouldn’t be surprised to hear you’re dating the Phantom Thieves, though I admit I figured it’d be more consecutive than concurrent, but criminal activities really aren’t the same thing as--”

“All right, all right!” Akira shook his head. “The point is, I’ve been hitting on you!”

Your heart fluttered. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” you said. “...Though, you might hit on an awful lot of people, if those are your standards.”

He cupped your face in his hands, leaning close. “Not like this.”

“Oh. Well. That’s wonderful to hear, honestly, though I wouldn’t want to restrain you if--”

“Takuto. What do you want?”

One thing and one thing only in the whole of the world. “You.”

He leaned a little closer. Your world was composed entirely of his eyes. “And can I have you in return?”

“In basically any way you could possibly want,” you said, and slapped a hand to your mouth in mortification. Akira buried his head in your chest, shaking with silent laughter.

“I am the biggest dork on the face of the planet,” you muttered, covering your eyes.

“No, you aren’t,” laughed Akira, and took a few steadying breaths. “At any rate. That sounds like a deal to me.”

You stared at him, while he smiled, with perfect patience. He couldn’t possibly meant what you hoped he meant, could he? But he had to mean something at least reasonably close--

“Though I might have to take you up on that,” he added. “Unfortunately, I should let you know there’s a couple fetishes I can’t indulge without the Metaverse--”

“This is not the time for a tentacle joke!”

“Sorry,” he lied, laughing. 

You ran a hand over your forehead. It was all too absurd. What the hell had your life become? You were facing a continued struggle to refuse the call to godhood. Debauched on your couch with a young man who was literally becoming a legend. And you weren't delusional enough not to be fully aware that you were more than half in love already and headed for terminal velocity fast. 

And yet.

He smiled at you and your heart lit up like a sun. It was wrong, it was doomed, it was ridiculous, but god, were you happy.

You remember.

(You can’t use him as your shield forever.)

(Is that so? And why not?)

(You’ll find some suggestions in the DSM-V under “dependent personality disorder”--)

(Bullshit--)

(--but how long can you keep doing this? How long can you keep clutching at neuroses to keep yourself together, to deny the truth of yourself, to--)

(--the answer is at least a little longer, and what else matters?)

(Why fight an inevitability, Takuto, why let the suffering continue, why let people DIE--)

Your last breakdown. On your knees on the hard floor of your apartment, Akira’s hand in your hair. So senseless, so preventable, and they were screaming for something better, for a world where people didn’t have to die for one fool’s overconfidence and ego.

And you could do it, you could do it, you had to--

“Why didn’t you bring back Kasumi?” Akira whispered in your ear.

It had been impossible, Sumire had thought she was her, there couldn’t be two of her--

\--well, yes, there could have been, you could have done anything--

\--but Sumire hadn’t wanted Kasumi back, not most of all; she’d wanted to _be_ her, or her vision of her-- someone confident, talented, flawless. But that was hardly a healthy desire--

\--and you could simply have pushed her a different direction; imagine Kasumi, shining bright, and Sumire discovering her talent and passion for ballroom dance; or something, anything different, for either one of them to have even a slightly different dream, something distant enough she wouldn’t have to torture herself with comparisons-- if you’d thought for a second about what she needed, instead of what she wanted--

“Shit,” you whispered. The wave broke; you fell to your knees, gasping, appalled by your own hubris. You’d never thought of it. It had never even occurred to you. You weren’t worthy. You didn’t know _anything_.

“Shh,” Akira whispered. His arms were still wrapped around you. He must have followed you down. And what else was new? The angel who fell--

“You were… saving that one… weren’t you?” you managed.

Akira sighed. 

“No. Don’t be sorry.” You laughed, though it hurt your chest. “Hope you… have some more, too. Don’t tell me.”

“I don’t enjoy this,” Akira said softly.

“I don’t… want to make you. You’ve had to… play Satan so often, because of me.”

“It didn’t start with you. And I can’t help it. It’s what I am.”

(You can’t help what you are, what you’ve always been. There’s no forsaking what you believe deep in your heart. He’d be the first to tell you that.)

Not what you are. What you were. But you don’t have to be that anymore. You can be more than this.

(Oh? Like he is?)

It was a normal day, that’s what you remember, sunlight bright and hot, and you don’t remember what it was you were talking about. You don’t remember what you were saying, but you remember the voice clearly, the stranger’s voice calling, “Amamiya-san!”

And Akira’s head turned.

You went over the motion many times later, hoping you’d misinterpreted. It was casual, instinctive. Like someone had just called his name.

“Ah, Yamada-san!” called a woman in front of you. The stranger hurried up to her, and they started to talk. You weren’t paying attention to them; your eyes flickered to Akira, who frowned, just for a moment, before continuing onward.

‘Amamiya’ and ‘Kurusu’ sounded nothing alike. It had too many syllables to be mistaken for Akira. “Akira, what was that?”

“Thought I heard my name. Weren’t we--”

“You think I’m going to let that by?”

“Thought I’d try being honest for once,” he said, and kept walking.

Take him at his word, you thought. _Thought I heard my name._ Only you could make people mishear things that badly. You had a feeling about this. Call it intuition, call it the culmination of a thousand little clues, call it supernatural knowledge; you had a feeling.

“Akira--”

“It really isn’t a--”

“--you’re losing your _name_?”

“Just gaining a new one,” he said. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

“But why?” Why would the public think his name was different now? Had someone else been implicated in his crimes? Oh, god, what _would_ happen to him if the public thought Joker was someone else?

“How should I know?” He was on edge. Of course he was on edge. But something was happening here, you were missing something. You knew this feeling, you remembered it. Back when you were a student. You’d been inclined toward a research path, but they encouraged you to take the practicums anyway, knowing the world of academia could be perilous. They put you on simple cases. Midorikawa-san presented with a mild case of anxiety. You remembered her lined smile, the way her hand fisted in her skirt. “Sometimes it feels like everything’s moving just a little bit too fast. Everything but me.” You remembered tossing and turning, something sticking in your head, before finally falling asleep. 

You woke up at 4 a.m. and you were out the door. You borrowed a neighbor’s bicycle, knowing the trains were out. You begged your way into her apartment building; you knocked on her door. She opened it, pale and weary-eyed, half hiding behind the door, and you apologized profusely at her for two minutes straight, you were an idiot and just a student and it wasn’t your place and it wasn’t even remotely allowed (you always did believe you could break the rules when it suited you, for the greater good), but you were worried, something she’d said, and you just needed to know she was all right. And somewhere around the two and a half minute mark, her face crumpled, and she let the door fall open, and her other arm was dripping blood onto the floor.

Rumi said you were amazing for catching it. You thought you were incompetent for nearly letting it slip past. It was an argument you never had settled, and you didn’t like that you were thinking of it now.

“Takuto?”

He was looking back at you. You lifted your chin, cold resolve straightening your spine. This would not slip past you. You remembered his hands clutching yours, the one thing keeping you from an endless fall. (They still are.) 

He would not slip through your grasp.

(But everything’s moving just a little bit too fast, and picking up speed.)

You explained that to them once, actually. Do you remember?

**#phantoms**  
No god can thwart the wrath of finals

Ryuji: I don’t get it. What the hell is “dark energy”, anyway? Sounds like Star Wars shit to me.  
Futaba: dunno  
Ryuji: Dammit, nerd, talk nerdy at me!  
Maruki: No one knows, actually.  
Futaba: astronomy dabbler?  
Maruki: Not really. I just found it an interesting metaphor.  
Ann: And my brain just turned off.  
Ryuji: Whatever she thinks, I still have this stupid astronomy elective, so keep nerding?  
Ann: Why did you even take that, anyway?  
Ryuji: I needed a science class and I thought it was gonna be cool!  
Ryuji: Like steering your way by the stars or something!  
Ryuji: I make bad decisions, OK?!  
Ann: Screenshotting.  
Maruki: Well, I’m far from an astronomer, but maybe this will help.  
Maruki: You know the big bang theory, right?  
Ann: If you say anything about hamburgers, so help me.  
Ryuji: Yeah, everything exploded out of nothing for no goddamn reason.  
Futaba: dude we just don’t know the reason yet  
Maruki: So, whatever the reasons, the force of that explosion threw everything apart.  
Maruki: It created space itself. Think of it like a shockwave spreading outward. Right?  
Ryuji: I guess.  
Maruki: But gravity also exists. Which pulls things together, right?  
Ryuji: They made me memorize some weird bullshit definition but yeah.  
Maruki: So all matter is attracted to each other. Shockwaves get weaker with time and distance, right? With the force of gravity active, you’d think that eventually, it’s going to get stronger than the momentum of that explosion. Sooner or later, everything’s going to collapse on itself again. I believe the official term was the “big crunch”.  
Ryuji: Well that blows.  
Maruki: Einstein thought so too.  
Maruki: He tossed something in his equations just to cancel gravity out and make everything static, because the idea of the big crunch repulsed him. He didn’t know what it could actually be. There was no reason to think it existed, other than wanting it to. He just called it the ‘cosmological constant’ and moved on.  
Maruki: He felt pretty silly about it later.  
Futaba: “my biggest blunder”  
Maruki: But something strange happened.  
Maruki: According to our observations, the universe is still expanding.  
Maruki: It isn’t getting slower. It’s getting faster.  
Maruki: Something, some force stronger than gravity, is driving everything in the universe apart.  
Maruki: We don’t know what it is. We just know it’s there and we can’t see it.  
Maruki: So, we call it ‘dark energy’.  
Ryuji: That’s even creepier than a big crunch! What the hell!  
Maruki: I’d advise against looking to cosmology for comfort.  
Maruki: A sense of proportion can be a dangerous thing. Of course, so can the lack thereof.  
Maruki: You can trust me on that, haha.

Proportion. Know your limits. Know your fallibility. Don’t infringe on their rights. You have no right to impose your will on anyone.

(Is it really ethical to stand by and do nothing? Wouldn’t he be the first to tell you that?)

Maybe Joker would. That was all the more reason to hesitate.

Remember. 

You were making dinner, and you were starting to feel uneasy. You weren’t sure why. Nothing was wrong. And it didn’t quite feel the same as… an attack. Akira was on the couch, quiet, looking at his phone. Understandable; the chat was quite busy. You were glancing at it occasionally yourself. You’d missed some of the story; something with the university swim team, some form of abuse. You knew that would hit them hard.

**#phantoms**  
PT 4 life yo

Haru: It’s unforgivable.  
Ryuji: I can’t believe this shit happens in college teams too.  
Makoto: You’d think adults would know better.  
Ann: Please. As if.  
Ann: Like one more day on the calendar means a damn thing.  
Ann: It’s still the people who have power and the people who don’t.  
Yusuke: Indeed. It’s simply easier when it’s children.  
Sumire: I’ve been worried about some people I know.  
Sumire: People worry about children, they protect children, or at least they say they do.  
Sumire: Then you get a little older, and all those safety nets are just gone.  
Sumire: And they weren’t worth a lot to begin with, honestly…  
Futaba: lol the system is a fucking joke  
Futaba: it’s a worthless trash fire and ask me how i know  
Haru: There’s got to be something we can do.  
Makoto: At least the authorities will be involved now.  
Ryuji: Dude, they should’ve been involved a year ago!  
Ryuji: And it’s an “investigation”? Who the hell knows what they’re gonna find?  
Ryuji: If the bastard just snows them like everybody else…

Something was wrong. You weren’t quite sure what (other than the world, of course). You looked toward the couch, not far away at all in this dubious apartment of yours. “Akira?”

He didn’t turn his head. “Akira?” you tried again. He was distracted. He was upset. 

No. Something in your mind was setting an alarm. Danger. Danger, of something, of--

_When I cross that line between being me and being Joker, who will notice? Who will know, when I’m not even sure myself?_

“Joker?” you called.

“Mm?”

You dropped the spoon. You took his phone and threw it to the other side of the couch. You took his head in your hands, tilting it upward to meet your eyes. “Akira. Akira Kurusu. A-ki-ra.”

Confused but unalarmed grey eyes. (You weren’t a threat.) You put every scrap of authority you could muster into your voice. “ _Akira_.” (What if you couldn’t call him, what if you couldn’t call him back?)

He shook his head a little, and blinked up at you. “...Yes?”

“Akira,” you breathed. Right; you knew this routine by heart. “You’re with me now?”

“Of course I…” He trailed off, alarm sparking in his eyes. “...Did I do it again?”

You’d address the ‘again’ later. (Of course it was ‘again’. How many times? How many times?) “It’s all right. Talk to me. What’s happening right now?”

Suspicion in his eyes. (Of what?) “Why do you need to know that?”

“I need to know you know. Talk to me.”

“Of course I know. I’ve been reading the chat while you make dinner.” His breath hitched. “Shit.”

“Focus on the here and now. Tell me five things you can sense.”

“Takuto--”

“Akira, please.”

He sighed, shutting his eyes. “You’re warm. Did some asshole smoke in your cab again?”

“Yes,” you sighed.

“Your phone is still playing music. You’re holding my shoulders.” A faint smirk lit his face. “And something’s burning.”

“Shit.” You ran to take the pan off the burner. It was only a little scorched; most of it should be salvageable.

His arms wrapped around you. “You saw it,” he whispered into your ear. “I didn’t even see it. How did you know?”

“I know you. I watch you pretty closely. I have experience with these things.” And-- should you say it? It might reassure him, you knew it would reassure him, but you weren’t sure you could bear to put it into words. 

_And Azathoth knows Joker is a threat._

“I’ll know,” you said instead. “I’ll always know. I’ll always call you back.”

His arms were tight around you. His face was buried in your shoulder. He stayed with you as you finished dinner, swaying to the beat of a [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVstp5Ozw2o) you’d never be able to hear again without thinking of this moment.

_Even my weak and wrecked self can keep singing, keep[singing](https://carlenne.livejournal.com/101861.html)._

Keep singing. 

You can do this. He’s waiting for you. He’s always waiting for you.

(Despite the pain and lies and scars he never should have had to carry.)

(Despite what it’s doing to him.)

(Despite all the things he’ll never admit, even to you.)

(And even if he ever does-- will it be too late?)

Remember.

“I remember things that haven’t happened,” he told you. His eyes were on the table; it was spilling out in a rush. “Not officially, anyway. But I have corroborators, so unfortunately I’m not just going crazy.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Come on, Takuto, are you actually surprised?”

Wouldn’t it be fantastic if you were just going crazy? If it was just a delusion that would hurt no one but yourself? You should have caught on faster (you’re always too slow).

“I thought I might be losing it until Yu-kun tracked me down. That was a hell of a conversation, let me tell you. That was halfway through my last year. You know what they say about the frog in boiling water? Heat it up slowly enough and it will never realize it’s boiling alive?” He shook his head. (Your heart broke for him.) “I thought I was holding it together so well. And then he showed up, and… it had all happened. It was real. Reality wasn’t this… dank pit of a town.”

You considered what he was saying. “I take it he knows? It’s happening to him too?”

“You always hear so much more than I say.” He sounded grateful. “Yes. It’s the real reason we have the Wildcards channel.”

“It’s _all_ the Wildcards? Is that what a Wildcard _is_?”

He shrugged. “Yu-kun’s got it the worst. Aigis-chan’s an edge case. Never had the chance to ask Akechi, but I have some suspicions.”

“An edge case?” You frowned. 

“She kind of... inherited Wildcard status,” he said. 

“What exactly is a Wildcard?”

“Never got a straight answer. People who can use more than one Persona, but it’s more than that. People on a journey. People who are called when gods start causing trouble.”

You felt a pang of guilt. “You realize that if it weren’t for old Yaldy, you wouldn’t have been dragged into this either?” he pointed out.

“Yaldy?”

“There is no way it’s worth slogging through all those syllables just to give the bastard some dignity. Fuck that.”

“Fair enough.” But mere mortals couldn’t defeat gods. Even when they did, they didn’t tend to remain “mere” mortals for long. Legends, at best…

“...Trickster,” you remembered.

He let out a long sigh. “Yeah. I got lucky. I’m supposed to subvert expectations. That will buy me some leeway.” 

True. “But a Trickster never stops.”

He looked at the ceiling. “Maybe I’m OK with that.”

“Akira--”

“I was chosen for a reason. I like it. Most of me _is_ Joker. And besides, I could’ve drawn a worse card.”

Aigis was an edge case. Inheritance was generally bestowed upon death. You thought of all the other quiet hints you’d gathered in your lurking. “Like the Messiah.”

“How do you even do that?”

“Consider my former professions.”

(But you could picture it, now, a dark cross and nails through those clever red hands. Or would they have inverted it, with the popular associations with Satanism, the more knowledgeable links to St. Peter? And if they’d asked it of him-- if they ever do--)

It didn’t matter. They’d never get him.

“Takuto…”

You were holding him tight. Tricksters were immortal, until they weren’t. Tricksters always won, until they didn’t. Many a Trickster had given themselves for the sake of humanity. Some of them came back.

(You could bring him back.)

Don’t think about that.

(You’re the only thing that can.)

Don’t think about that.

Remember. You were woken up when your phone buzzed; a text message, which was an unfamiliar sound and probably work. You reached for it on the side table, but managed to get yourself tangled in the sheets, and tumbled onto the cold floor with a whump. Luckily, you were wrapped in quite a lot of blankets, so it didn’t particularly hurt. It was late November, and you were saving money however you could. It wasn’t work, though. An unknown number.

_Hey Doc? I stole your # from Akira’s phone sorry.  
It’s Ryuji. Akira’s got a fever and I’m totally screwed if I miss my tests today.  
Could you maybe come over this afternoon? He’s OK but I don’t wanna leave him alone._

You fumbled for your glasses on the table as you started a reply.

_Of course! I’ll be there as soon as I can._

Right, you’d need coffee, clothes, food, medicine, and coffee should probably come first. You started a cup brewing as you went to wash your face.

_Oh man, you’re a total lifesaver!  
Everyone’s in school and I can’t call just anyone, he might start saying something weird, you know?  
And I figured you were the best one to call, cause, you know and all._

_I’m glad you did,_ you answered. _Thank you. I can be there in half an hour._

And so you were; Ryuji opened the door with a grin, nothing but relief in his eyes. “Hey, Doc. Thanks again for comin’ over-- oh man…”

“How many bags?” Akira’s voice carried through the apartment, weak and croaky, and your heart twisted in worry even as you realized he at least sounded rather coherent.

“Two,” called Ryuji. “Doc, I know we’re students an’ all, but Ma made sure we had some medicine on hand…”

“Still,” you said, and put the bags on the folding table.

“OK, lemme walk you around, I dunno if you’ve been here yet?” He didn’t seem too interested in your response, starting the tour immediately. (Probably he didn’t want to know.) “Do whatever you want in the kitchen, except the bag marked Ryuji in the fridge, I’m saving that. There’s a TV in the living room. Fire extinguisher by the oven. That’s my room there. An’ here’s Akira.”

Akira blinked hazily up at you from a cocoon of blankets, and you resisted the urge to rush immediately over to check on him. “His phone’s on the table there, if any weird shit does happen you can swipe it an’ look under Takemi. She talks mean, but tell her it’s Akira an’ she’ll make a house call.”

“It’s a fever, Ryuji,” said Akira.

“I know, man, but just in case, OK?”

“It’s better to be prepared,” you agreed.

“Akira has two mommies,” he muttered, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

Ryuji just rolled his eyes. “I oughta be back by 4, is that OK?”

“That’s fine,” you told him.

Akira’s head wobbled up. “What about your job?”

“It’s fine,” you told Akira. “I’ll have time.”

“But--”

“If you want to heal, you’re going to need to rest, Akira.”

“I can rest and call you crazy at the same time… I’m a multitasker.”

Ryuji shook his head. “I know he’d probably be OK,” he muttered, “but he’s been goin’ in and out, and it’s just real weird seein’ him sick, y’know?”

“It is,” you agreed. “And he’s not the type of person you can trust to take care of himself.”

“I’m right here, guys.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“Ugh…”

“Anyway, thank you again, Ryuji-kun,” you said.

“I’m the one who should be thankin’ you, man!” He clapped you on the back. “You’re really savin’ my bacon. I’ll be back soon, OK?”

You nodded, waving as he left, then turned back to the bed. “Where’s Morgana-kun, anyway? Not that he would’ve been much help in this particular circumstance…”

“Sent him to hang out with Haru when I felt it coming on. Learned my lesson after the last couple times.”

“Your lesson?” You walked closer; Ryuji had left a chair by the bed. You sat, caressing his cheek, trying to hide your worry.

“Things I say when I’m out of it,” Akira said. “Weirded him out, was a whole thing…” He waved vaguely. “Sick imagination,” he muttered. 

“This happens a lot when you’re sick?”

“Always happens when I’m sick,” Akira complained. It was almost a relief to know he could. “Every time. Only like once a year, thank all the… fuck all the gods, actually.”

You considered pretending to take offense, then realised it was only more appropriate if you were wrongly counted among their number. “The flu? I haven’t really heard of it going around yet, but there’s always a flu.”

“Dunno, just get a fever and get all out of it and have a crap couple days.” His accent was coming out a little, too. It was endearing, and made you worry just how much of himself he habitually kept hidden. 

“Ugh, end of every fall,” he sighed. “Like clockwork.”

It was a good thing this wasn’t happening while he was a Phantom Thief. Any amount of time away might have been fatal, and in the late fall, what had they been busy with? Hadn’t they been--

“Oh,” you breathed, a ball of dread forming in your stomach. You pulled out your phone to look up the date.

“Takuto?”

“Oh, no,” you sighed, and wondered if you should tell him. His hand clasped your wrist, and you knew that even in this state, he probably wouldn’t let you get away with an evasion. “Akira, it’s November 20th.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s the anniversary of when they announced you committed suicide.”

He was silent for a long moment. “You think it’s all in my head?”

“No,” you told him, though that was certainly a possibility. “I’m more worried that it’s all in theirs.”

“...Shit.” He started to laugh, though it almost immediately turned into a cough. You wrapped an arm around him to brace him. “Really should’ve… picked up on that.”

“I’m so sorry.” If it was really true that he was essentially impervious, except around the anniversary of his arrest-- if he were really that tied to the public’s cognition--

“Thought I just… remembered it when I was sick ‘cause it was bad. It’d figure. It’s set up an annual goddamn reminder. How didn’t… how didn’t I notice?”

His eyes slipped closed; you touched his forehead. You weren’t sure, but you felt like it might be getting warmer. “Who would think of that?”

“My…” He laughed, coughed. “My goddamn life.”

You hoped knowing the cause of it wasn’t making it worse. “It’s OK,” you told him, not caring that you weren’t entirely sure.

He just laughed again. His eyes slipped closed; you stroked his hair, feeling helpless. You’d forgotten (no, you’d never once forgotten) just how much you hated sitting at a bedside.

“Makes sense,” he murmured. “It’s when I failed.”

“But you didn’t. Though I guess it only matters that they thought you did.”

“But I did,” he murmured. “Came so close… I remember. I remember failing, so many ways. I remember things that never happened and sometimes I wonder…”

You swallowed hard. “They didn’t happen. You made it through.”

(You remembered the research: some memories are only recoverable while in a similar state of mind to when they were encoded.)

“Fucking cameras… why do they even bother?…”

(Japan boasts a 99% conviction rate. Only the hopelessly naive believe it is because only the guilty are accused. You were hopelessly naive, once.)

“My name, why do they want my name? They could write... anything they want. Already have. Does it make you feel better, pig? Does it make you feel like a warrior of justice? Is this how you’re going to tell yourself… you were doing the right thing?”

It went on like that. You put cold cloths on his head, you coaxed some soup into his mouth, you stitched firm chains around your breaking heart as he talked about horrible things you didn’t think had ever happened, and some you knew that did for certain. You stopped telling him which were real. You were getting a horrible feeling that all of them were. Even if they hadn’t happened here, they’d happened, and they’d happened to him. 

He’d surface sometimes, and he looked almost more miserable then, as he mumbled out apologies. You hushed him, caressing his cheek, for all the good it would do.

(You’d rather be forgotten than powerless.)

He was coming out of a particularly horrific one (surely even scum like that couldn’t really expect to get away with drugging children into sex slavery? Surely?), and you leaned in close. “Akira, love, it’s almost four. Ryuji-kun’s coming back soon.”

“Fuck,” said Akira.

You didn’t have to ask why. He didn’t want his friends to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, but especially not them. It had been their plan; they’d been complicit. He was worried it would tear them apart. “Is it getting better?”

“Not… fast enough,” he managed.

“I’ll stay,” you said. “I can run interference.”

He looked up at you with heartbreaking gratitude. “Thank you.”

You would have done anything (you wanted to do anything) (you still want to do anything). You told Ryuji you were just too worried to stay away. You held his hand, held a finger to his lips, held your tears tightly back.

You wanted to--

You want to--

You HAVE to--

NO.

Don’t you remember? You didn’t come by it easily. It’s never easy, to catch a phantom thief. You pieced it together over uncounted long nights, gaze drifting over his sleeping form, letting a thousand tiny clues slot together in your head. It takes unrivalled detective work to catch a phantom thief-- razor wits, strong intuition, and a leap of faith.

A rather enormous leap of faith, but he had that look in his eyes again, that lonely, secret look that turned his wry smile into something haunting. If you were right, if you were right, he had almost no one else in this. Your heart was racing. If you were right, if you were right, if you were right--

His hand slipped down the window. His eyes met yours in the glass; his smile was soft, and sad, and just a little, much too far away--

“You were right,” you told him. Not how you’d meant to start, but it didn’t matter.

“You’ll have to narrow that down,” he said, with that familiar cocky grin.

_“Not just this public?”_

_“You know. Don’t you? Couldn’t you tell?”_

“The thought had occurred to me, actually,” you told him. “I didn’t take it seriously. There was a lot to distract me and I wasn’t entirely in my right mind. And of course Azathoth wanted nothing to do with the idea. He was a Demiurge, remember? The Demiurge can’t accept that its creation is not complete. That it’s not the highest force in the universe. That its world is a pale copy, a reflection of something greater.”

He’d gone still. Utterly still, in a way that made you realize just how rarely he was ever still. His eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them, but it didn’t make him look young. Nothing could make him look young anymore.

“But with time,” you went on, “and further contemplation, and more clues-- yes. Yes, I have figured it out. So you don’t have to hide it anymore.”

You stepped closer. You only realized he was shaking when you touched his arm; he was practically vibrating, and his eyes were panic-wide. You could still back out of this. You could still pretend you meant something else. Would it be easier? For both of you?

_“Amamiya-san!”_

“It’s not just this public’s cognition you’re grappling with,” you whispered. “Somewhere else, somewhere out there, Joker is as much a story as Arsene. Isn’t he?”

His arms wrapped around you. He didn’t say a word. The trembling spoke more eloquently anyway.

“It’s all right,” you said. “I know.”

His arms hugged you tighter. His shoulders drooped, an invisible weight starting to slip from them.

“So you can tell me,” you whispered. “Whatever you want. Whenever you’re ready. I won’t run. I won’t break. I swear to you. You can tell me.”

He was silent. You felt hot tears along the side of your neck. You had learned the hard way when to stop talking. You held him.

You would not run. You would not break. You swore it. You will devote every part of your being to it. You will hold yourself together with both hands.

(your fingers digging into the back of your neck, holding yourself back, holding yourself in)

Grounding. Can’t you feel it yet? Touch the real world, touch something, touch anything--

(There’s nothing here but you.)

Demiurge. Solipsism. You’ve fallen for this trick before and you’re not going back.

(Because you couldn’t bear to disappoint him? How pathetic.)

It’s the least pathetic thing you’ve ever done. You’ve chosen your banner and you’ll lay down your life for it if called to. This faith is unshakeable. You _know_.

(Of course you think he’s perfect. You think he hung the moon. But how much longer, Takuto, do you think he can hold out?)

He’s--

(He’s what he has to be. Isn’t he always? Isn’t that the truth of him? And don’t you remember, Takuto? How good, how noble that feels? The way it hollows you out?)

He’s…

(The lure of martyrdom. It slips a knife into your hands, it makes you smile as you slit yourself open, smile as you pass yourself around like candy, because that brief joy on their faces is worth more to you, more real to you, than anything you’ve ever had. You’ve done it. So has he.)

(Tell me he’s not doing it right now.)

(Sooner or later. They’ll call. He’ll answer.)

(But you could--)

(--you could--)

Wait. 

Wait.

You _couldn’t_.

You never had been able to change him. He’s always been out of your reach. He’s out of your league, Takuto. Don’t you realize what that means?

(Then you could change everyone else. You could change what they thought of him, _if_ they thought of him, stop them from bending him to their will--)

\--everyone here, anyway. Yes, everyone in the world. But if there is, in fact, another world-- then even this power, even this monstrous power--

\-- _even this monstrous fucking power_ \--

\--cannot possibly--

_\--cannot possibly--_

\--avail.

No. This again. This feeling again. Not this again. Not this-- eternal, torturous truth-- your invincible defeat-- not this _again_ \-- No. No!

The world is breaking (has broken) 

the one you love the most (the only one who means anything)

And there’s nothing

There is _nothing_

You can do. 

_I won’t lose him. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t! I’ll burn it all down--_

(he wouldn’t want you to)

_change the whole of reality--_

(it won’t be enough)

_strive more, conquer all, give anything--_

(no price will buy him back)

_\--but I won’t--_

_stop--_

_fighting._

Now that, that resolve… that he might approve of.

_Even if it means nothing, even if I’ll never win, I’ll never stop fighting, I’ll never stop fighting for him._

(For her own good, you let Rumi go. Maybe that was always your first mistake.)

_Whether there’s hope, whether there’s damnation. Whether I succeed, whether I die trying. Whether it breaks me, whatever it takes. Whether it matters or whether it doesn’t, because nothing else ever will. Just one thing, one thing, one thing._

(There’s no way out of this--)

Don’t you remember, don’t you remember? End of your shift and you were greeting the dawn with the bottom of your third cheap beer. He was there beside you, watching the light slowly spill into the back alley dirt. It had been a bad night, and you weren't sure where hope was hiding. Your safeguards were killing you and your love would be your downfall.

“It’s not sustainable, you know.” You looked up at the dull, muddy sky. “You’ll get hurt, and I’ll save you. Something horrible will happen somewhere, so horrible I’ll go and you won’t stop me. Or you will; but we can’t make it through unscathed. Or else I’ll die before that happens. Pick your poison; it’s all the same in the end.”

“There’s other options,” said Akira, and there was black fire in his eyes. If you looked another way, you’d see dark wings arching above him, hear wild and wicked laughter, smell the smoke of a fire building out of control. You didn’t have to look, anymore; you knew it was there.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “But we’ll find them.”

And tell me, lost as you are, wrecked as you are-- even now, do you really have it in yourself to doubt him?

Don’t give in, Takuto. He wouldn’t want you to give in. And you know what he is. This hasn’t taken him down. He’s on his way. Just don’t break. Don’t break.

(One day, though, something will.)

He wants you to fight this.

(Something will take him. Something will dare to profane that perfect beauty. Something unendurable is going to happen.)

He’s your strength. This love is your strength.

(And it won’t let you take that lying down. You won’t care if he hates you. He can’t die. He can’t be taken. He can’t be subsumed. You’ll twist the universe itself to stop it, and nothing will convince you to be sorry. Why fucking wait?)

“There’s another way,” he said. “We’ll find another way.”

(There is no other way.)

Believe in him, Takuto. Believe in yourself.

God is dead. You killed him together.

(The world is flying faster and faster apart--)

Temporary or not. Inevitable or not. It’s worth fighting. Every second you can scrape is worth it.

Takuto Maruki. Hold yourself together.

\--


End file.
